No Tomorrow
by SeungSeiRan
Summary: He never expected her of all people to be such a tease. Not that he minded. Steve x Julia.


Heard this awesome song by the band, Orson, and a fic just _had _to be written. Not a song-fic mind you, but just a fic based on a song.

* * *

_Let's go to a rave and behave like we're trippin'_

_Simply 'cause we're so in love._

_Funny hats, shiny pants_

_All we need for some romance_

_Go get dolled up and I'll pick you up._

_There's no line for you and me 'cause tonight we're V.I.P._

_I know somebody at the door._

_I see that twinkle in your eye, you shake that ass and I just die,_

_Let's check our coats and move to the floor._

_**When I'm dancing with you, tomorrow doesn't matter**_

_Turn that music up 'til the windows start to shatter_

'_**Cause you're the only one who can get me off my feet**_

_**And I can't even dance.**_

- No Tomorrow, Orson.

* * *

Giddiness results in sleepiness.

Because giddiness is a volatile cocktail of emotions, shaken not stirred. Pleasure, excitement, nervousness. A trio which could speed up your body's metabolic activity until it showed outwardly in your pink, flushed cheeks and bright, teary eyes. Like a fever, really. Except that you wanna get up and do something about it. Run, jump, skip, dance. Anything to shake your limbs and mind free of the tension inside your brain cells.

Let loose, shake it off.

Thank the Heavens that it wasn't a school night. He'd already had one too many cans of Red Bull. Who needed booze when you already had portable caffeine-in-a-can? That way, you still got your drunken high without sending your blood alcohol levels to New York's Empire State building. No hangovers to cover up from the old folks at home too.

His mind was a hazy mess. Or maybe it was the dry ice and strobe lights. Heh, dry ice and strobe lights. Sounded like the title of an album by some alternative rock band. Funny were the thoughts that invaded his mind when he didn't feel quite sane. In a mad world, only the mad are sane. Was that right? Quoted by Akira Kurosawa if his memory served him well.

Ah, he didn't want to think at the moment.

He just wanted to let his brain melt into a squishy pile of mush and be as stupid as can be.

Not an easy feat if you happened to be an A+ student and a top-notch all-rounder at that.

She pitied him at times like these. So many expectations, so much to live up to. She could relate to that. Bit of a competition they'd both had going on in school as well. A playful battle of wits and wills if you may. Harmless really.

But it was the weekend.

And he _did_ look… nice.

A little rumpled perhaps but still nice. Jeans, grey graphic t-shirt, black blazer. And one of those cute little retro hats. She'd forgotten what they were called. Fedora, trilby, whatever. The latest happenings in the world of fashion weren't really her cup of mocha. She knew what suited her well and that was that. After all, you could never go wrong with the classic LBD. The infamously scandalous Little Black Dress.

Thank God for the curse of the curves.

Seduction became her as she trailed a bare arm and hand across his muscled back, her fingers lightly stroking the soft blazer material. Feeling him shudder beneath her touch, she slinked away in satisfaction. She'd purposely left the good girl at home and switched on the 'tease mode'. She'd sacrificed comfort for a pair of black strappy stilettos which added a few inches to her height and a definite 'oomph' to her visage.

How was that for a sucker-punch?

His mind was too addled to enable him to speak in ungarbled lingo so she let her eyes and lashes do the talking.

_Care to dance?_

He wondered why there weren't enough songs or poems about brown eyes. Dark, chocolate-brown eyes. It was always the other colors that got the attention. 'Pretty Green Eyes', 'Behind Blue Eyes', 'Behind These Hazel Eyes', et cetera. What of the siren with eyes so deep and tempting that you want nothing better than to drown in their depths? And what about eye-lashes? Nobody ever praised long silky lashes when they noticed them. Nobody he knew of, anyway.

Just as he got up to join her, she smiled with mischief and disappeared cruelly into the crowd on the polished wooden dance-floor.

He saw through it now. It was a game she wanted him to play. If he wanted it, he'd have to earn it. Play by her rules.

Diving head-first into the sea of sweaty, writhing bodies, he caught a glimpse of the silver hair-clip holding up her long tresses. It glinted gold, aquamarine and magenta in the ever-changing light. Each change in shade prompted her to change her rhythm. She wondered if his persistence would pay as she slipped towards and away from him, her hips swaying to the beat. A few winks and air kisses should do the trick…

Oh, she could flirt alright. He hadn't even tasted a drop of alcohol and he was already drunk. Here she came, there she went. Flickering in and out of the waves of smooching couples. A candle on the water, she was. Who would have thought? The wholesome girl-next-door transformed into a lady of the night.

_His_ lady of the night.

He realized that it wasn't only the colloquial school-girl who got giddy on the eve of a dance. His heart had never pounded so hard since he'd gotten into an impromptu street-fight last week. Of course, the adrenalin rush had never taken over him like this. His cheeks flushed hot, cold, and then hot again.

What is attraction, if not a sickness?

She was enjoying herself far too much to cease her casual affectations. She wasn't herself and she loved every bit of it. She was careless and free. He saw his chance and swooped in.

His fingers clasped cold metal. Yanking the clip off her hair, he let her dark locks fall, tumble, plummet down her back. Spinning her around to face him, he pulled her close, greeting her with a smirk. She was trapped. No way out. But she wouldn't allow the fun to stop there. With a flick of her wrists, his hat was flung far off into the fluorescent darkness leaving his blond hair exposed to her caress. Running her fingers through the golden strands, she shook them free from the gel he favored.

Kisses? Of course. Quick and fleeting. Lips, cheeks, chins, noses, throats, anywhere bare skin was exposed.

It continued for a while. Not that anyone else noticed, being locked in embraces of their own. Their own private dance in their own private world. Secret jokes, hidden smiles, special moments to be locked away. The night succumbed to the drowsy call of the wee hours of morning.

Time to pack up and leave. Temporary lovers unattached themselves from each other, rubbed their soon-to-be-bloodshot eyes, and waltzed home with an air of melancholy in their auras. Some of them, that is.

It was fortunate that her mother was out of town on that night. It was fortunate that his own mother never gave a damn about her son's whereabouts. T'would have been an endless stream of accusations had either of them happened upon him and her wrapped up cozily in each other's arms on the couch in her living-room.

No fire-works had actually gone off after they'd returned home. They both were already too sated to even think beyond a few sloppy pecks on the mouth before drifting away to their separate dreams. Shared warmth really sped up drowsiness. He awoke as the sun rose and smiled down fondly at his still-sleeping companion. She in turn muttered unintelligibly in her slumber and snuggled closer to his chest.

Sure, they hadn't exactly gone that far but he wasn't too worried about that.

There was always the promise of tomorrow.

She moved her palm up to his heart and grinned cheekily…


End file.
